


Howl

by Shiny_Pichu



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Bad end, Descent into Madness, M/M, Self-Mutilation, Suicide Attempt, yes the title comes from the song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_Pichu/pseuds/Shiny_Pichu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if things hadn't gone so well on the moon?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clay

“…Clay?” he prods softly, “What’s wro—”

The rest of the words get sucked back into his throat like a vacuum. And he chokes on them. Or maybe that’s just the blood. 

He doesn’t know how he missed it. How he didn’t anticipate the attack before it came. He was better than this. Much better. All of his training had made him hypersensitive to even a fly buzzing by his ear, and yet he missed something so big? Right in front of him? He could think of no bigger shame than this. Could think of no death more pitiful. More _disgraceful_. 

But he let this happen. That was a fact. And he knew why. _Of course_ he knew why. But still, he wondered. Still, he didn’t know how this could have happened. 

So Akane just stares, wide-eyed and jaw slack, a dribble of red overflowing from his mouth as the blood makes the trip from his punctured insides up through his throat to settle in his mouth. He coughs and chokes during the process but doesn’t break eye contact with the boy in front of him, whose eyes are just as dilated but for an entirely different reason.

It’s funny. Akane doesn’t so much feel the blade going into him, but when the long sword pulls out slower than certainly necessary pain _explodes_ all throughout his system like he’s been shot multiple times. Akane would scream if his air passage wasn’t currently obstructed, so instead he gurgles and throws up a mouthful of blood as his legs give out from under him and he begins to fall forward.

But he is caught effortlessly by one strong human arm of lean muscle. It is soaked in blood. 

That arm shoves Akane back so he hits solidity and slides down to sit on the ground. His vision goes blurred and dizzy for a moment, and the pain is _unbearable_. He’s shaking, he thinks. Going into shock? Something like that. It hurts too much to think. He can’t move. Can’t really breath, either. He keeps coughing and the action burns his throat like he’s swallowed acid. 

Warm hands are touching him now. Or maybe they only feel warm because his own body feels so cold. 

“Shh…” a voice whispers by his ear. Akane’s sight still hasn’t returned. Everything’s just distorted shapes and colors. “Shh, it’s alright…”

Laughter. There’s laughter right after those words laced with a recognizable softness. Shattering the familiarity. It’s a low yet high laugh. Perhaps giggling more than anything. The laughter of a cruel child. Akane trembles. 

“C-c…” Akane attempts, trying to blink his vision into some level of clarity. But he coughs and spits up half a mouthful of blood. 

“It’s alright, Akane…” 

Arms wrap around him. Carefully and gentle. He’s being embraced. But the laughter continues in his ear. The laughter farther away from reality than even Akane’s hazy mind is.

“It’s gonna be okay…” the voice murmurs, “I’m…going to save you…I’m…” a pause to giggle, “I-I’ll… _save_ you…ahaha…aaha…”

“C…” Akane tries again, and he thinks his arm is moving. Believes it to be rising up to settle on the other’s back and fist itself into fabric. But he can’t really be sure. “…l…ay…”

The embrace tightens. Akane feels a throat pressed against his shoulder, so when the weapon swallows he can tell from the bob of the Adam’s apple. A few seconds later, he feels a wetness staining his clothes. That’s probably Clay crying. But did he start because the meister had? Or was it the other way around? 

Clay is breathing heavily. Hyperventilating, perhaps. It makes him tighten his hold even further around Akane, a hand coming up to fist into dark hair. It adds to the agony of Akane’s fatal wound, but he’s not about to protest. 

It’s hard to tell which one of them is shaking now. It’s hard to tell if Clay is saying anything else or if Akane is just imagining the muttering string of apologies. It’s suddenly getting harder to process a lot of anything, except that the pain is starting to fade away.

The world is going oddly quiet, except for Clay’s rapid breathing and incoherent murmurings by his ear. Akane can’t really be sure, but he thinks his hair is being stroked. He wishes he were warmer. The blood staining his clothes feels oddly cold. He thought blood was supposed to be warm. Clay is warm. But for some reason any heat that Akane absorbs from their bodies being pressed close together evaporates into nothing. Or maybe it adds to the chill. 

“…C—…la…” his throat still burns. His airways still feel obstructed. He might throw up again, but he keeps trying, “…lay… I-I…”

_I love you._

The tears sting his eyes so he can’t keep them open, even if one is already obscured. 

_It’s okay._

It doesn’t feel like he’s trembling so much anymore. And he’s very much numb to the pain in his abdomen by now.

_It’s my fault._

Clay is still crying, he thinks. Or muttering. Or something. He can’t really tell. All his senses are jumbling up and melting away. There’s just the darkness created by his closed eyelids, and the familiar sensation of being wrapped up by his weapon.

_I should have…been better._

He wishes Clay would kiss him. That would feel nice. Akane couldn’t remember the last time they kissed. Had they ever kissed? He couldn’t remember. 

_I shou…ld…have…_

Akane’s senses fade away long before the madness reaches him.


	2. Akane

It’s when Clay feels his blade being pressed up against Akane’s throat that he quickly transforms back to human form.

 

The fear and panic make Clay stumble upon landing like he never does, and when he finally manages to whirl around to face the meister Akane isn’t even looking at him. It’s like he’s still holding the weapon, like he’s having a delayed reaction to the loss of something cold and sharp against his skin. His fingers still holding the empty shape of a sword hilt are trembling. Eyes wide and terror-filled. All at once Clay feels very cold and nauseous. 

 

“…A…Akane?” Clay doesn’t mean for his voice to crack. Doesn’t mean for it to shake with weakness and uncertainty. He doesn’t mean to sound like he’s thirteen years old again. Naïve and scared and alone and lost. 

 

Akane seems to take a second to process his own name being called, like there’s something else just by his ear he’s paying attention to. But when he looks up and his one visible eye focuses on Clay’s face, it feels as though he’s looking right past him.

 

“Akane?” Clay tries again, forces bravery upon himself in both his tone and the step he takes forward.

 

Akane immediately steps back, quick, like a wild animal eyeing down what he cannot yet tell is a danger to himself or not. If possible, his expression seems to grow more terrified in a way Clay has never seen before, and never thought he ever would. But still, Clay takes another slow, careful pace forward, and he finds himself bending his arms up at the elbows, showing his palms in a display of surrender.

 

“I-it’s me, Akane. It’s okay,” Clay speaks soft despite the tremble in his voice he can’t reel in. He can’t help the forced smile, either. He feels it at his lips like a painful tug, but at the same time he thinks it’s keeping him from crying. 

 

Akane blinks once. It seems like he may have understood Clay’s words that time. But he still looks scared. Still looks like he’s paying attention to something else in addition to Clay. He’s not moving away, though, and when Clay attempts another step forward Akane doesn’t step back. In fact, he’s starting to truly focus on Clay now, and Clay prays to whatever sane god exists out there that that’s a good thing.

 

“It’s okay, Akane,” he says again, while very slowly making his way within arm’s reach of the meister. “I’m here…okay? I’m right here with you…” 

 

Akane’s lips move, but he’s not opening his mouth, like some force is keeping them closed, or he’s struggling to find his voice. Clay sees his right foot move back a little, and his hands are coming up to hold his upper arms while his eyes are darting away from Clay’s face and to various random spots in his periphery. Clay takes that chance while Akane isn’t looking at him to quickly close that last little gap to gently grab at the other’s arm. 

 

Akane immediately jerks back, his gaze jumping back to Clay, but Clay instinctively strengthens his grip and reaches out to grasp Akane’s other arm, “Akane— Akane it’s okay…!”

 

“No—” finally, Akane utters something, and he’s pulling back, shaking his head wildly and closing his eyes. “No no no no let _go_ —” his voice is small and shaky, but when his hands come up to pry off Clay’s around his arms he’s _strong_. Clay has to hold on as hard as he possibly can, and with Akane taking steps backwards that makes it all the more difficult to maintain his grip. “Let— _mE GO_ …!”

 

Akane moves far too fast for Clay to react. Though he should have expected this. What chance did he really have of holding the meister down? With all his combat ability and martial arts training? Maybe Clay had the crazy thought that the madness would dull Akane’s senses a little. Make him forget the physical disparity between them. 

 

But no, it was just a delay. Before Clay really knows what’s happening or how it happened, his whole world turns upside down, his balance and purchase on the ground both gone as Akane throws him over his shoulder in a judo move Clay has seen plenty of times in the training room, plenty of times during missions—but never experienced firsthand.

 

It _hurts_ so much more than Clay imagined, than how it always looked from the sidelines. The arm Akane was able to grab and twist to transition into the throw feels like it was pulled right out of its socket, the pain reaching up to his shoulder and all the way down his spine. When he gets slammed to the ground he’s thrown _hard_ , the gravelly composition of the surface of the moon only making it worse. The wind is completely knocked out of him, his back _screaming_ in agony, and for a handful of seconds Clay can’t move a muscle. He grits his teeth so hard they ache as he rides out the waves of pain along his backbone, his whole body prickling with discomfort. 

 

It gives Akane plenty of time to run away. 

 

While immobile on the ground, Clay could hear the direction Akane’s frantic footsteps went, so when he finally has the strength to roll over and sway back to his feet, Clay knows exactly where to go to follow after the other. 

 

Despite the throbbing ache still at his back and shoulder, Clay takes off as fast as he can towards the caves that make up the nostrils of the moon. 

 

When he approaches the entrance, he doesn’t slow down like he should, and hurriedly pulls out the small flashlight from his pants pocket to shine into the inky blackness in front of him. It does very little to light the way, much to Clay’s distress, but it’s certainly better than nothing. 

 

“AKANE!” Clay yells out into the darkness, despite the certainty in his mind that Akane isn’t going to respond. There’s always a slim chance, perhaps, that Akane will make some sort of noise to help Clay pinpoint his location. Even laughter would help, as disturbing as the thought is.

 

But Clay’s cry is met with eerie silence. No reply but the echo of his own voice carried back by the cave walls and his own frenzied footsteps stomping through the tunnels. But he still doesn’t slow. If anything, he runs faster, despite the knowledge that the deeper he goes, the worse the madness wavelength will be. Already Clay is feeling a dull headache growing stronger with each step he takes. 

 

“ _AKANE!_ ” he tries again, a little louder than before, a little more desperate than before. He has no idea where he is. Everything looks the same in this murky blackness. For all he knows he’s been running around in circles.

 

But he gets nothing in answer. Nothing but silence and chill and static in the air. Panic prickles at the back of Clay’s mind. It feels hard to breathe all of a sudden. His steps get a little faster. 

 

“AKANE _PLEASE!_ ANSWER ME!” 

 

Clay stumbles on a rock he didn’t see, and when his left foot slams down to catch himself, he hears the distinct _crack_ of glass breaking under his feet. Clay steps back quick in alarm, and he turns his flashlight down to the ground to see what exactly it was he stepped on. 

 

He doesn’t recognize it at first, not from this distance. He has to crouch down and reach a hand out to touch the mangled object of metal and glass. And _then_ he realizes, and his blood goes cold.

 

That’s when Akane’s scream pierces through the silence. 

 

It’s sharp and raw, making Clay physically flinch back and almost think to cover his ears. But there’s too much panic for that. Too much fear and dread and shock freezing him where he is for a heartbeat or two. That was the scream of someone in _immense_ physical pain. Of someone being attacked. Clay has never heard Akane—no, any human being—sound like that before outside of fictitious horror movies. 

 

Clay starts sprinting with all he has towards the sound, “AKANE!?” He trips and falls and rams into walls more this way, but he can’t stop, Akane keeps screaming, dipping up and down with the pain, painting a grotesque picture in Clay’s mind of Akane being stabbed multiple times, of bones being broken, of his body being smashed, and Clay doesn’t care that his head is outright _hammering_ with ache now. He’ll go as deep as it takes. He’ll fight the Kishin Asura himself if it means getting to Akane. 

 

The shrieking dies down after a couple of minutes, but to Clay they feel like an eternity. He panics a moment, fearing he’s been thrown back to square one in the silence, but then he makes it to a much more open space in the cave, and after a moment of wildly darting the flashlight about the span of the area…there Akane is.

 

Clay can hear him breathing heavily. Heaving like he’s just come up from the bottom of the ocean to gulp up fresh air. But there’s pain there too in his inhales, making his exhales shaky and whiny. His back is to Clay, and he’s on the ground on his knees, hunched over. Clay might be wrong considering the absolute darkness surrounding them, but Akane seems completely alone, with no signs of a struggle with someone else. Clay doesn’t know why the thought gives him no comfort at all.

 

“…A-akane…?” Clay finds his voice after a few seconds, and he takes careful steps forward towards the other, keeping the flashlight trained on him with a trembling hand. 

 

When Clay gets closer, he realizes Akane is tightly holding onto something in his right hand, while his left is at his face. It’s still hard to tell at this distance what it is, only that it looks long and sharp. And dual-colored. 

 

Finally, when Clay is only a handful of feet away from Akane, the smell hits him.

 

Clay steps back quick, eyes widening, his free hand flying to his mouth and nose as his whole face scrunches up from the pungent odor. He doesn’t know why it took this long for him to register it. The effect of madness wavelength in the air? Maybe it was just a self-defense mechanism of his own brain trying to hang onto the last of his sanity, the same thing delaying his comprehension of the sharp piece of rock dyed red clutched tightly in Akane’s hand. 

 

Then there’s laughter.

 

It starts out quiet. Soft and low. Like a private joke one might chuckle to themselves about. But the echo it makes out of the cave’s walls makes it sound even more sinister than it already is. And it only grows. Until Akane is downright cackling, and Clay genuinely feels the impulse itching in his legs to turn around and run. 

 

When at last Akane turns his head to look at Clay, the weapon recoils back so hard he hits a wall, and he would scream if not for the hand still at his mouth muffling the sound. 

 

The entire left side of Akane’s face is coated in a deep red, like it was painted there, the excess liquid dripping off the side of his face and chin. The bloodied hand at his left eye tells of the source of the bleeding, where it continues to flow with no signs of stopping. It draws Clay’s attention to the pool of blood on the ground he didn’t quite notice before in the darkness. But none of that is what horrifies Clay the most. 

 

Akane is _smiling_ , wide and bright like he’s proud of something he’s finally accomplished. It’s almost childlike, really, how purely pleased he looks. It makes Clay miss the fear in Akane’s expression. He truly would prefer that to this. 

 

More laughter, and then, “I got it out…” low and unstable. “I got it _out_ …!” Akane is standing up now, but he’s wobbly on his feet, like he’s drunk. Clay almost— _almost_ reaches out to him, to steady him, to help him, to touch him, but he thinks he might actually vomit. He can feel the bile rising up his throat, and he’s blinking away wetness from his eyes, but he can’t tear his gaze away from Akane. 

 

Clay watches him struggle to stay on his feet, and then he’s turning back, towards what he was hunched over before when Clay first found him. Akane starts to laugh again, as if in triumph. 

 

“It’s okay now. Everything’s _fine_ —” and Akane takes his right foot and stomps hard on something, which makes a sickening squelching sound, reminding Clay vividly of gouging out a lemon for its juice. “It’s gone it’s gone it’s gone _I got it out_ …!” He stamps on the small, indistinguishable pile of mush a few more times for good measure, before whirling around back to Clay. “It’s alright, Clay. It’s okay. Stop crying.”

 

Clay hadn’t even realized tears were overflowing until Akane pointed it out. But he can’t manage to wipe his face dry. His one hand is still occupied with the flashlight, and the other now seems permanently stuck to his mouth. He’s afraid that’s the only thing keeping him from throwing up, or sobbing, or both. 

 

When Akane comes stumbling over Clay doesn’t move, he just lets the rock wall behind him take most of his weight. Akane practically falls into Clay’s chest, and when he straightens up and reaches out to Clay’s face it’s with his blood covered hand. It’s warm against the side of Clay’s tear-stained cheek. 

 

Clay is grateful, _so_ grateful Akane’s hair still covers the left side of his face. Clay isn’t sure at this point if he could handle seeing the empty eye socket he knows is there just past that thin veil of raven hair. It’s enough that Akane is still bleeding profusely. Still _covered_ in blood. The white of his shirt underneath his jacket is dyed red. Both hands, the front of his neck, his collarbones, all red, red, _red_. 

 

The first sob escapes Clay’s throat when his legs give out, dragging them both down to the ground with Akane still grasping at Clay like he’s the only thing keeping him upright. Clay closes his eyes and just _cries_ , his forehead hitting Akane’s shoulder as his grip on the flashlight loosens completely. 

 

He knew.

 

He knew he knew he _knew_. He knew the second he couldn’t feel Akane’s stable wavelength rippling into his own soul. He knew the moment that white noise invaded their systems like an ink stain spreading further and further along the paper of their minds. He knew the instant Akane attempted to slit his own throat. 

 

As much as Clay wanted to believe there was still a chance—that maybe all he had to do was call out to him enough, reach out to him enough, touch him enough—he could pull Akane back. But he should have known. He should have known to accept what he already knew to be true. 

 

That it was already too late. 

 

“Why are you crying…?” Akane is asking just above Clay’s head. Akane’s bloodied hand is still at Clay’s face, caressing his cheek and wiping away what tears he can reach with a thumb. His other hand is still at his side, balled into a fist, Clay thinks. It’s hard to see now with the flashlight on the ground. “Clay…it’s okay… It’s alright…”

 

Clay would believe him, he truly would, if Akane’s words weren’t intermingled with uneven giggles. But even still, Clay cries into Akane’s chest, clinging to him with both hands. He can’t move, can’t form sentences past his sobbing and sniveling. None of it matters anyway. He doesn’t care. There’s nothing he can do anymore. They can’t escape. But at least he can be here, right now, with Akane. He can enjoy the last remnants of the real Akane running fingers through his hair to soothe him while he weeps. 

 

“Stop crying, okay…?” Akane says with a hint of warmth drowned out by the unstable smile Clay knows it there without having to look. “Clay…”

 

He doesn’t see when it happens. His face is still buried in Akane’s blood splattered chest, and there’s no way to hear the silent motion. He only realizes when the pain hits. Sharp and instant. There’s that sound again, like gouging out a lime. Squishy and wet. Clay’s sob cuts off into a choke. All too quickly he can’t breathe. His throat and mouth are filling up with blood. Too much blood. He’s going to suffocate. 

 

“Ah—” Akane makes a noise over him, but Clay can’t quite pinpoint the emotion behind it. His mind is going, he’s gagging, trying to suck in air, but there’s only blood. Tipping his head down to have it spill out his mouth doesn’t help. More just replaces it. He’s losing strength in his arms and everything, but his fingers try maintaining their desperate grip at Akane’s clothes. 

 

The sharpened rock digs deeper into the side of Clay’s neck.

 

“N-no…” Akane is saying, his voice trembling. Maybe. Clay’s hearing is going dim, he thinks. “…wasn’t…s-supposed to…”

 

Clay wishes he had the strength to look up to see Akane’s face. But he’s fading fast, he knows. His body is going limp, his vision blurring. He can’t even feel if he’s still holding onto Akane. He can’t even feel if Akane is still holding him. But he does feel when the obstruction in his neck is pulled out. It makes his head and body jerk slightly to the side. It’s enough to tip him over and crumple to the ground. 

 

Immediately after there’s a touch at his right shoulder, his body is turned over to lie on his back, and suddenly there’s Akane’s face looking down at him. 

 

Clay vision is still barely there. He’s been trying to hold on, trying to resist the pull of his heavy eyelids to close. But he’s only half succeeded. And the world he can still see is terribly hazy at the edges. And yet…he can still see it. 

 

He can’t hear any longer. Or maybe he just can’t comprehend sound. But he can see Akane’s mouth moving. Speaking. Can see it open wide sometimes like the meister is yelling something. Screaming in hysterics. He looks terrified again. Of what? Clay wishes he knew. He wishes he had strength left to move his arms—even one would be fine—to reach out and touch the other. He liked it better when he was wilting against Akane. He’d rather die in Akane’s arms. He’d be happy with that. He wishes he could tell Akane that. Maybe then Akane wouldn’t look so sad. 

 

Clay wishes his last sight was better than this. But then again, he didn’t want to watch Akane bleed out in front of him. So maybe this isn’t so bad, as selfish as the thought probably is. 

 

In the end, he’s still glad he’s with Akane when the darkness comes.


End file.
